Letters of Intent
by Ciamil B
Summary: England receives a letter of intent from Russia concerning America. After consulting France, he decides that the best way to fight fire is with fire, and sends a letter of intent to Russia concerning China, but it doesn't end there. RuxCn only for now


Letters of Intent

Pairings: FrancexEngland, RussiaxChina, AmericaxRussia(sort of), KoreaxHongKong, SealandxLatvia

Summary: England receives a letter of intent from Russia concerning America, and he is immediately concerned. After consulting France, he decides that the best way to fight fire is with fire, and sends a letter of intent to Russia concerning China.

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

It was a small room with curtains drawn and a single desk lamp turned on. Stacks of old, dusty papers and scattered hard-cover books littered the room. A single Englishman sat at a large desk with Victorian stiffness. On the desk in front of him were two sheets of paper and an ink pen.

"Bloody hell," the man mutters, eyes shifting over the paper. He picked them up and then tossed the onto the table again in frustration. "Francis! Get in here right now!" A few moments later, a tall blond man appears in front of the irate Englishman.

"Look at this!" the Englishman says curtly, shoving the papers into Francis's hands. "I tell you, Ivan has gone mad! This is preposterous! Even worse than the time Bruno bit off one of Tinkerbell's wings, and –"

"Arthur," Francis interrupts with a teasing grin, "the stress must be getting to you if you are talking about your 'friends' again." Arthur reddens.

"Why you--! Shut up and read!" Laughing at his riled partner, Francis starts to read the papers. Arthur puts his hands together and waits, fidgeting. Finally, Francis finishes and gives the papers back to Arthur. He pulls a seat up, and slumps into it without uttering a single sound.

Arthur waits for a response, but nothing of the sort comes.

Francis just sits, staring up at the ceiling. Arthur is just about ready to explode in rage when Francis says, very quietly, "I thought this day might come."

"You knew this would happen?" Arthur hisses with barely suppressed resentment. All those times he had tried to get Ivan to be friendlier led up to this? And France knew? God, he wanted Ivan to be easier to work with, not harder.

"No, mon chou, but I did suspect," Francis says, fingers idly stroking at the leather of his seat.

"Since when?" Prompts Arthur, pinning the Frenchman with a glare. The other just shakes his head.

"Do not dwell on this," Francis says, "we must find a way to save your little one. He is too young, and too stupid to understand this." He looks up at Arthur, into his eyes, and hopes to see a little glimpse of the homicidal punk that hid underneath the Victorian façade. He doesn't see it.

"Do you have a plan?" He asks Arthur, who shakes his head.

"That's why I brought you in here!" Francis is surprised.

"You wanted my help?" Francis asks, momentarily distracted from the problem. Suddenly, a grin as large and as radiant as the sun breaks out on his face. "This is wonderful! All those years waiting—I have to tell Mattieu! Mon chou, tu—"

"Damn it, Francis," Arthur shouts, red-faced, "can't this wait? Alfred is in danger!" Francis deflates, looking oddly put-out. He resolves to ask the Englishman about it after everything is settled. And after he shaves.

"Yes, yes, I know." After a beat of awkward silence, Francis speaks up again.

"Mon chou," Francis says, and when Arthur looks up there is a mischievous smile on Francis's face, "all is fair in love and war, yes?" their eyes connect, and for two horrifying minutes Francis begins to believe that Arthur has lost that spark and that the man cannot remember what causing mayhem feels like.

But when a shit-eating smirk appears on Arthur's face, and Arthur reaches under his desk to pull out several pieces of paper, Francis knows that the old dog can still cause trouble if made to bark loud enough.

"Go get the rum," Arthur commands, "we're going to need it." Laughing, Francis stands up with vigor. Fighting fire with fire rarely worked, but in this case, and with the particular 'fire' they were throwing, things were sure to go their way.

-- (LINE BREAK!) --

It was a small room with the curtains open. The room was lit with a kind of ethereal light from the brightness of the snow outside. Two fireplaces, one near the door and one across from it were also lit. One man sat at a large oak desk, wrapped in warm clothes that made him look 'big-boned'. In front of him was a single sheet of paper.

The man's face is emotionless with a slight tinge of anger as he looks at the sheet of paper before him. Suddenly a dangerous look appears on it, and he quickly pulls out a piece of paper and writes a letter on it, stating his new intentions concerning Arthur's adopted son.

After signing and sealing the document and giving it to a messenger, the man settles back into his seat and stares up at the ceiling. He does this for quite a while, before he starts to chuckle.

As if he can't stop, he just keeps on chuckling and chuckling, until he is gasping for air and has tears coming from out of his eyes.

Then he stands to stretch, rubbing at his stomach to ease the pain of laughter, and looks at his opening bedroom door with a self-satisfied look on his face. From his room emerges a smaller Chinese man who is looking at him with an exasperated look on his face.

* * *

"Your insane laughter woke me up Ivan, aru," complains the Chinese man. He walks over to Ivan's desk and glances at the letter on it. A look of faint horror appears on his face.

"Eugh," he says, "I didn't expect him to use me to threaten you."

Ivan shrugs. "Well, you're most important to me," he says. The other man doesn't even bat his eyes at the statement.

"I know you just want to help" the Chinese man said, picking up the roll of stamps on Ivan's desk, "but do you really have to waste money to do it?" The Russian man literally pounces onto the Chinese man.

"But Yao~," Ivan sing-songs as he wraps Yao into a tight and warm hug, "it wouldn't be fun otherwise~" Yao rolls his eyes, but leans into the hug.

"Yeah," he says, poking the taller man in the stomach, "but you're not eating roasted potatoes tonight because of it, aru."

Ivan just laughs, hugging Yao closer. "It's okay," he says, bending down to look into Yao's eyes, "I've got all I need right here." Yao rolls his eyes again but smiles, and pushes himself out of the hug to turn around and walk to the door.

"Come on, we should get going soon if we want to see Horace alive," he says, taking his and Ivan's coats off of the coat rack. Ivan hums a little as he follows Yao.

The last things Raivis hears from his position in the air vents above Ivan's desk is Ivan saying: "I'm more worried about Korea" and the ensuing laughter even after the door shuts.

Thousands of miles away, America finally receives the letter from Russia that was sent to both America and England.

"What the hell!"

* * *

A/N: I was reading a Peterson book about short stories, and I decided to give it a try again. I'm losing confidence in my writing, damn it!

So here's my first try after reading the book. I hope you liked it!

- Ciamil B.


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